Hill Slug Ad Hoc, Saturday, 23 October CANCELED

I've managed to put myself on the disabled list. While the hard-core jock in me is willing to tough it out on Saturday, the pragmatist in me (*) says, "When you pull a muscle in your leg that results in tingling toes, best stay off the bike for a while."

See you in November.


(* The nurse practitioner I just visited agrees with the pragmatist.)

Saint John's, Newfoundland, Canada

18 October 2010

OK, so the last time I blogged I'd just resigned from one job and accepted another. It's a month later and today was my first day of NOT commuting an hour and a half each way to work. The changing leaves on Princeton Pike are a far cry prettier to look at than the abandoned warehouses along the Northeast Corridor into Philly.

Anyway, enough of that. Last week we were in Saint John's, Newfoundland, Canada. The island is the easternmost point of Canada, so far out into the ocean that the time zone is one and a half hours ahead of New Jersey.

We were there for one of Jack's Eighteenth Century literature conferences. Our usual gang of friends was noticeably absent. Kevin was the only one who made the trip. On our second day we kidnapped him for a drive around the north coast of the island.

The first day was gray and rainy, but we still had a boffo view from hour hotel window:


The day cleared up towards evening.


There was a reception at the Lieutenant Governor's mansion. I had no idea that this was a big deal until someone explained to me that the host was appointed by the Crown and was the figurehead of Newfoundland. He gave an amusing speech, all of which I've forgotten except one line from a story he was telling: "Your arse is in the pickle."

I was a little bored so I started taking pictures. Here's a view from the back door of the mansion.



This is the room we were standing in.

An eagle carved from a moose antler:

The next day was clear and windy for our drive around the coast. This is a cove somewhere north of the bustling metropolis of Saint John's.




Jack waits by the car as Kevin searches in vain for his camera. Turns out he left it in the hotel lobby, so I became the official trip photographer.



A little farther along we found, completely by accident, Stiles Cove and part of the East Coast Trail on the ocean side of the island.






















We were getting hungry. Along the bay side we found Portugal Cove.



We wound up at the curiously-named Ferry Last Stop Cafe. The host was as, um, colorful as the decor. But man, was she a good cook! We hung around for a long time talking to her about all sorts of stuff. Dale, these pictures are for you because I know you'll love 'em.


Kevin and Jack do their best to tune out their surroundings:

Across the street from the cafe:




The next day was even windier, with fog and mist that turned to rain as Jack and I drove south along the east coast. This is a cove in Witless Bay.


Tors Cove, population 377:




Moose crossing!

Scenery from behind the moose:


Wind turbines in Fermeuse:


Last, another view from our hotel window that afternoon: